


Lockdown

by Demerite



Series: Trektober 2019 [8]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sex Pollen, sex on the bridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 05:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: In which there is sex pollen, autopilot is a myth, and someone needs to fly the ship.





	Lockdown

**Author's Note:**

> For the Day 9 Prompt: Sex Pollen.

Una draws in a deep breath, holds it for a full count of five, and lets it out again in a long, slow sigh. It doesn't help, but she hadn't expected it to, really. They are, objectively, screwed. Or rather, they're _not _which is the problem here. She presses her thighs together as tightly as she and tries very hard _not to think about it. _She's got a ship to fly, and there's no-one else who can help right now. 

Well, there's Chris, but he's already right there next to her, alternating between helping her fly, and checking reports from sickbay and the labs, all of whom are working on a solution. 

The Bridge doors are sealed, and Phil has been up twice already to yell at them, but there's nothing he can do from in there; they need him in the lab working on an antidote before anyone else is exposed. Everyone showing symptoms, and everyone who had been on the bridge has already been quarantined, but it might be too late already, and if they end up with shipwide spread, they need an antidote sooner, rather than later. 

She and Chris are still on the Bridge by virtue of seniority, and there needing to be _someone _to fly the ship. Autopilot decidedly _isn't, _which Una could have told anyone who actually bothered to ask - she's good at her job, but even she's not good enough to make a system designed to hold a ship steady actually work to pilot it without human input. Having Chris on hand is basically a godsend - his skills may be a little rusty when it comes to piloting a _Constitution-class_ starship rather than a shuttle, but he's good enough that between the two of them, they're not going to crash into anything before they can find something to get into orbit around. 

Unless they die before that. 

Una bites her lower lip and crosses her legs, but it's no good. It's been forty-five minutes since whatever the hell biological contaminant that was snuck into the vents hit them, and while everyone else who was up there at the time has been quarantined with various partners to literally fuck it out of their systems, someone has to fly the ship, and by staying on the Bridge, they're continuing to expose themselves, so not only have they not been able to deal with it in the recommended manner, but by staying on the Bridge, they're only compounding the problem. Which is why Phil has been up to yell at them, telling them to just fuck already before it's too strong for their systems to handle, in pretty much those exact words. 

But of course, there are things like professionalism, and boundaries, and _flying the ship _that mean sex isn't a possibility. They've got, at most, another two hours before they absolutely have to fuck, before there's no choice, and they'd decided to give Phil and his team and everyone in the labs every minute they can. 

Una is _really _regretting that decision. Her arousal is only increasing, and focusing is becoming a real struggle. She's already stripped out of her uniform jacket, and she still feels hot all over, her hair keeps sticking to her face, and she knows with a glance to her right that Chris, also having shed his jacket, is in a similar situation. 

There's at least another thirty minutes until they'll be in orbit around the closest planet. Una knows that once they're got something to orbit, autopilot will be able to hold the ship steady at least long enough for them to get a little bit of relief, but until then she _has _to focus. 

The comm on her station chirps, and she accepts the call without checking who its from, because she can't take her eyes from the readout in front of her unless she's looking at the forward screens right now. 

"Una, Chris, have you two-"

"Nope." Una cuts Phil off ruthlessly, "Do you have an antidote yet?" 

"Not yet, we're working on it." 

"Good, keep us advised." Chris says, and reaches around her to cut the call before Phil can start again. 

The movement has him all but pressed against her, and Una can't help but let out a tiny, disappointed whine when he moves back into his own space. The look he shoots her suggests he's feeling a similar way about the lack of physical contact between the two of them. When they're alone, he's incredibly tactile. Not being able to touch is probably killing him right now even more than it is her. 

Twenty minutes to go, and Una has to grit her teeth to keep herself focused on flying. 

Ten minutes, and that's not working anymore. Una's left leg is bouncing as she tries to just focus, focus, _focus _on the controls, on the readouts, on not flying them into the goddamn planet. 

Five minutes, and they're nearly in orbit. 

Two minutes, and Una's breath is coming hard and fast, like she's just run a marathon, not piloted from open space into orbit. 

One minute. She watches the readouts carefully, her fingers steady and sure on the controls even though her hands are shaking. 

"Una." Chris' voice is low. 

"Nearly there." She answers, not looking at him because she knows what she'll see, and she needs all her concentration for these last few crucial seconds. 

_"Una." _He sounds wreaked, the way he usually only gets when she's been teasing him for _hours, _and Una can't help the glance she steals in his direction. He looks wreaked too. 

"Ten seconds." She grits out, forcing her attention back to her screens. Ten more seconds and they'll be in orbit. Ten more seconds and autopilot can hold them steady. Ten more seconds and she is not going to be able to control herself, and from the looks of him, neither is Chris. 

Ten. 

More. 

Seconds. 

"Five seconds." She counts down, her voice unsteady, "Four, three, two, one, we are in orbit." Hands shaking, vision blurring, she makes the last few adjustments, sets autopilot to hold them steady and alert them in they're in danger of crashing into anything. 

_"Confirm autopilot engage?" _The computer asks. 

"Confirm." Una responds and sinks back in her seat with a sigh. They did it. They're steady. They're safe. 

She turns to Chris, but he's already moving, out of his seat and for a moment, he stands over her, looking down at her with such naked desire that if she wasn't already breathless, she would be just from looking at him like that. 

She's not expecting what he does next.

She's not expecting him to drop to his knees in front of her, not expecting his hands to part her thighs, or for his fingers to reach for the button of her pants. 

She's not expecting it, but she definitely doesn't stop him. 

She doesn't stop him when he tugs at her pants, just lifts her hips and lets him pull them down, definitely doesn't let out a surprised squeak at the sensation of her bare ass on the pilot's seat. The squeak turns into a ragged, breathless gasp as his mouth is on her already. Una's hands fly to the sides of her seat, more for something to hold onto. She'll save pulling at his hair for when she needs his attention on something other than the sinful things he's doing with his mouth. And with his _hands. _The way he twists his fingers inside her is about as close to a religious experience as she's ever going to have. Well, actually no, that's not true, the closest thing to a religious experience is that _thing _he does with his tongue sometimes, but this isn't far behind. Una swears desperately, and tries her hardest not to slide out of her chair. Chris looks up at her, and the grin on his face is far too smug for Una's liking. She takes one hand off the edge of the seat, just long enough to twist her fingers in his hair and push his face back between her legs. She hears him laugh as he goes, and then his mouth is on her and she grips the edge of the chair hard enough that her fingers ache.

She's not going to last, but given the situation, she's not sure that's a bad thing. 

When she comes, Una grips the side of her chair hard enough that she can feel at least one of her knuckles pop. She also screams loud enough to wonder if the Bridge is soundproofed like the Ready Room is. 

As she comes down from the high of orgasm, it's to see Chris still kneeling between her thighs, looking just as smug as he had before. 

"Get up here." She says, pulling him towards her. 

"Uh." He says, ducking his head and blushing. 

"Did you already-"

"Yeah." He admits, looking sheepish, "Sorry." 

She can't help but laugh as she kisses him all over his face, because of course he'd come just from eating her out. 

When Phil stalks onto the Bridge a few minutes later, accompanied by a grinning engineer who had clearly had the opportunity to use a laser cutter on the door, hypo of antidote in hand, he finds them sitting on the decking, leaning against each other for support as they laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how autopilot works and for the sake of the story, I really don't care.  
_
> 
> Want to know more about Trektober? Click [HERE](https://aishahiwatari.tumblr.com/post/188059640163/trektober) for the info post on Aisha's tumblr, or [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Trektober2019) for the AO3 collection to read our fic. 
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://demerite.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
